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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266836">Mimi's Drabble Collection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimizuku9/pseuds/Mimizuku9'>Mimizuku9</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2016-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimizuku9/pseuds/Mimizuku9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles archived from my tumblr account, including submissions for ship week events and extra scenes that never made it into my fics.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), China/Russia (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Xiao Yao</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little snippet that never quite made it into "Rules and Narrow Margins". RoChu.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘<em>Xiao Yao…</em>’</p><p>Yao tensed. He spun around on his heels. ‘Where did you hear that?’</p><p>Ivan blinked in surprise. His lips broke into a smile. ‘Xiao Yao likes the sound of it, <em>da</em>?’</p><p>‘No, I don’t,’ Yao snapped. ‘Don’t ever call me that again.’</p><p>‘Xiao-’</p><p>‘I said ‘don’t’!’ Yao seethed, stomping his foot in the way a child might. He felt his face flush in indignation at the thought of this, and added a threat to cover this up. ‘I’ll break your legs if you do!’</p><p>A silence fell, save for the echo of Yao’s voice in the empty hallway. Ivan looked at him with a feigned expression of hurt – granted, there was no way Yao’s words could have been that genuinely wounding to him…right? Yao exhaled, turning around to leave.</p><p>‘Xiao Yao-‘</p><p>‘What the hell did I just say?!’ Yao whipped around.</p><p>‘I wanted to see if you would break my legs.’ Ivan’s face lit up with a smile and chuckled. ‘But you didn’t! That makes me very happy!’</p><p>‘Who said I wasn’t going to break your legs?’ Yao stormed towards Ivan, dropping his bag to the floor. He stopped in front of Ivan, suddenly very aware of the height difference and the futility of the situation. He hesitated, heat rising to his face.</p><p>‘<em>Chto ne tak</em>?’ Ivan asked, voice drawled out in a childish way. ‘Should I lie down to make it easier?’</p><p>‘Don’t be stupid!’ Yao said, resisting the urge to step away – no, to run away – and forget he had ever made such a foolish threat to begin with. ‘I can do it like this just fine!’</p><p>‘<em>Da</em>, I’m sure…’</p><p>The air felt incredibly thick, and Yao had to wonder why he was standing so close in the first place. He swallowed, immediately regretting it when Ivan’s violet eyes caught onto the movement.</p><p>‘It’s late,’ Yao croaked, having to clear his throat. ‘I’ve got work to do at home. I can break your legs some other time.’</p><p>‘That’s okay with me.’</p><p>‘Good.’</p><p>‘Just let me know when you plan on doing it.’</p><p>‘Fine.’</p><p>Ivan chuckled, taking his time in replying. ‘…I look forward to it.’</p><p>Yao took a step back, feeling the need to gasp for air that didn’t have Ivan’s scent intermingled with it. He searched for something to say back, something that didn’t make it look like he was running away, but he could only turn around and walk in the fastest pace he could get away with.</p><p>‘I-I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ Yao said, trying to keep his voice curt and steady.</p><p>‘<em>Da, da…</em>Oh, Xiao Yao-‘</p><p>‘What?’ Yao looked back, gritting his teeth.</p><p>‘Your bag.’ Ivan held up the blue bag, smiling brightly.</p><p>Yao grabbed his bag and walked away, the sound of his own echoed footsteps overwhelming him. They sounded so loud, so panicked – was that really how afraid he had been?</p><p>Unable to hear Ivan’s footsteps, Yao knew he was being watched. He felt Ivan’s gaze burn into his back, and it made Yao’s stomach flutter in uneasiness. He remained as calm as he could, forcing his legs to take leisurely steps until the very end of the hallway. He pushed the exit door open, and as soon as the hazy afternoon heat hit him, he ran.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. RoChu Week 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Two drabbles I wrote for RoChu Week 2017 (and I mean drabbles in the strictest sense of the word, so - expect RoChu in 100 word doses).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Moonlight</strong>
</p><p>Her apparition flickers before the auditorium, and once again, it’s like watching Chun Yan dance for the first time.</p><p>With every turn her porcelain skin seems to shimmer, translucent as though moonlight is shining through. Nothing about her seems real, yet, Ivan thinks that she must be; her shadow is cast on the stage floor; her dress whispers with every leap; the air is sweet with her scent.</p><p>Her hair tumbles free from the lily holding it in place, unravelling with the rest of her as she turns to wisps and fades from the spotlight.</p><p>And once again, she’s gone.</p><p>.</p><p>
  <strong>Dark</strong>
</p><p>At sunrise, Ivan’s smile glows. He teases Yao affectionately. His touch is tender; his words are sweet.</p><p>Then dusk falls, and Ivan’s changed. He broods, he mutters. He lingers in old rooms and clings to aged photos. When Yao coaxes him out of the dark, scars have risen up on his skin – violent stretches of fire and agony, wounds from a war Ivan’s never fought in.</p><p>Swallowed up in his embrace, Yao feels unease. This man gazes at him like decades have passed between glances. This man’s touch is desperate; this man’s words are bitter. This man is not Ivan.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bruised Affection (RoChu Week 2018)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something short and (mostly) sweet for RoChu Week 2018 (Day 3)! The prompt was “Playing with Hair". Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something about China’s house that Russia found more comforting than his own. It was far messier than his, but it felt homier. Bookshelves were stacked full of worn texts and yellow-paged classic novels, pillows were piled up to excess on the beds and couches, the office was cluttered with old post-it notes detailing last month’s to-do list. China claimed he was just a little lazy when it came to cleaning sometimes, but Russia suspected he had a hard time throwing anything out, as if even a single plane ticket of thousands held some sentimental value.</p><p>(He hoped, quietly, that this was the case, having seen many of the tickets to Moscow littered across China’s desk .)</p><p>Even the wine tasted sweeter in China’s home, though perhaps it was more the lingering scent of jasmine, China’s uninhibited laughter and his fixed amber gaze on him as he drank, that made Russia stay.</p><p>The autumn rain was pattering against the stone steps outside when their conversation fell into a lull, their bodies sprawled on opposite ends of the couch. China’s chest was rising and falling with slow, calm breaths, his eyes watching Russia curiously. It was a look Russia had seen before, many evenings like this ago where their carefree conversations easily became carefree pleasures, born out of not much more than unresolved tensions from long ago betrayals and border disputes.</p><p>Tonight, Russia had thought, there would be none of that. Relations between their countries had been quiet and uneventful as of late. And yet, China was already crawling over him, pinning him to the couch with a look as calm as a still lake. Their lips met with initial hesitance, quickly overtaken by desire when Russia pulled him closer and felt China press fully against him. But it didn’t feel like business as usual, it didn’t feel like business at all. Rather than biting and pressing his fingers hard into the places were Russia bruised the easiest, China was planting his affection softly in kisses to his throat and cheek, his slender hand resting warmly on Russia’s frantically beating pulse.</p><p>It was a bruised tenderness China hadn’t shown him before – one which Russia was sure would only last for tonight, for this spell of a moment where they were more than just diplomats or national emblems. He ran his hand through China’s hair, dark locks running through his fingers like spun silk, the caress drawing out content hums from China’s lips.</p><p>He might never hear these sounds again, these gentle sounds that made his chest feel light and his hands yearning to hold him closer, but he indulged in it all he could, revelled in this one night of affection either of them could scarcely afford.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ghostly Encounters Outtake #1 (USUK)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arthur’s couch has always been comfy alternative when Alfred didn’t have anyplace else to sleep, but tonight he finds that it somehow isn’t. He keeps turning and twisting the blanket into new shapes, fluffing the pillows, but really he knows he should be blaming that rickety house of his, which decided to flood itself to biblical proportions over the course of the past few weeks. For completely un-paranormal reasons of course. The taps would just keep on flowing red – rusty water or whatever – whenever Alfred walked into the room. Sometimes the lights went out.</p><p>It scared the shit out of Alfred, but like he’s been doing all his life anyway, all it takes is a little reasoning to reassure himself.</p><p>Just like how now, he can hear wet footsteps in the kitchen – soft little squicks across the tile floor. See, Arthur likes to shower just before bed. He’s probably just hopped out to grab a glass of water. The tap is running, too.</p><p>The kitchen light goes off.</p><p>“Uh, Arthur - ? Could you leave the light on, buddy?”</p><p>The light stays off. The footsteps linger a little longer. Alfred takes his fidget spinner, his ally against intrusive thoughts, in his hand and turns it slowly, counting the spikes as they go by.</p><p>“Arthur?”</p><p>There are no noises for the rest of the night, but Alfred sits there resisting the pull of sleep, not knowing why.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>IDK WHY but in one version of “Ghostly Encounters” Alfred carries a fidget spinner with him everywhere. I even had this chapter planned out where he loses it and goes berserk in trying to find it, only to discover that it had somehow gotten trapped in this sealed-off basement, and it was supposed to be like a ~spooky “oh shit the ghost took my fidget spinner” moment :/</p><p>I can’t for the life of me remember why this was a thing.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Ghostly Encounters Outtake #2 (RoChu)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ivan often wonders if taking this job was a bad idea. It’s not so much the shit apartment he can barely afford with this pay, or the cramped workspace, or the fact that this building is always, always too cold. It’s that often times, he has Yao standing with his hip cocked at his doorway, those few awkward seconds where he can feel that there is a desperate attempt to come up with something light and funny to say, when five years ago this was effortless.</p>
<p>“So…”</p>
<p>Yao is still wearing the same pyjamas he wore at university, apparently - sweatpants and a t-shirt with the Dota 2 graphic long ago washed out. It’s “casual” Friday, but Ivan finds a weird little pride in his chest that only he actually knows for a fact those are Yao’s pyjamas. Alfred can only guess and laugh about it.</p>
<p>“Alfred seems a little panicked upstairs,” Yao says, and a little smile etches onto his lips. “Did you scare him again?”</p>
<p>“I was only asking him a few questions.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Yao takes the liberty of grabbing a seat next to Ivan, their knees briefly bumping together. Ivan feels that little panic rising up in him, quietly. “What’d he do this time?”</p>
<p>Ivan shook his head and shrugged, turning back to his screens. “You should ask him yourself. Have you had your lunch?”</p>
<p>Yao scoffs, but Ivan can hear he’s smiling. “Two hours ago.”</p>
<p>“You must be hungry again, then.”</p>
<p>“I am, do you have something for me?”</p>
<p>The question was only asked out of politeness – Ivan always had something to feed Yao. Initially he’d mostly be giving his own food to Yao, just for the satisfaction of providing for him, but recently he’s been baking things, too. It was also a good antidote to these strange silences, in which he could always tell Yao wanted to bring up graduation, or how Ivan ended up in such a mundane job when he’d been preparing to build rockets his whole life.</p>
<p>Today it was piroshki, which Ivan himself probably hasn’t had since childhood. He’s started to understand his grandmother a bit, why she was so persistent and eager in getting Ivan to <em>eat, eat, eat</em>, why for her feeding might as well have been directly equivalent to affection. He feels it in his chest a bit, when Yao is wolfing down the pastries and happily bouncing his knee.</p>
<p>“I was thinking,” Yao says between bites, licking the crumbs from his fingers, “we haven’t watched a movie together in ages.” Yao is now grinning, giddy, and Ivan wants to do the same but forces himself not to look so eager.</p>
<p>“Did you have one in mind?”</p>
<p>“Paranormal Activity 3.”</p>
<p>“Again?”</p>
<p>“We’ve seen it?”</p>
<p>“Yes. End of first year.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“It was bad.”</p>
<p>“I mean, aren’t they all?” Yao chuckles. He looks slightly rosy, though maybe that’s the strange lighting in here. “Well, anyway. You should come over to mine. I can’t watch those movies on my own, it’s been a long time.”</p>
<p>Ivan nods, already looking forward to having his arm grabbed in their pile of pillows and blankets. He always figured that was just how Yao behaved with his friends, but part of him liked to think this thing of theirs was special.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In this alternate version of "Ghostly Encounters", Ivan works as a security guy in the same office that the rest of the gang works in. I was planning to even do a whole Alfred -&gt; Yao &lt;-Ivan love triangle, so there was also gonna be some AmeChu angst which I was craving at the time but had to cut out for the sake of brevity :( There was like a whole college AU story nestled within the ghost-hunting one, but I might make that into a whole new fic of its own someday…?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. PruCan Week 2020</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Prompt:</b> The Moon: Unconscious, Illusions, Intuition | Confusion, Fear, Misinterpretation</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Matthew takes in a gulp of relief as he escapes out onto the apartment balcony, shutting the doors behind him to drown out the lively chatter from inside. Alfred said it’d only be a small gathering of close friends; then again, Matthew shouldn’t have been surprised that “small” and “close friends” meant very different things between the two of them.</p><p>Thankfully, the balcony is near silent, save for the hushing of the night breeze. It took a second glance to realize that someone was leaning on the rail, looking out towards the city lights. It’s unmistakably Gilbert – his silver-blonde hair catches the light of the full moon, and he’s still as a statue. Matthew approaches him gingerly, peering over to see that Gilbert’s expression is vacant, as if he’s been in a ruminating trance for a while.</p><p>“Gil?”</p><p>“Hm?” Gilbert blinks, his red-violet eyes darting to Matthew.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>Gilbert’s eyes soften. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, and then as if realizing just how uncharacteristically quiet he had sounded, he bursts into laughter. “You should see your face! I should be asking you what’s wrong, Matt, looking worried like that.”</p><p>Matthew shrugs. “You looked… pensive.”</p><p>Gilbert only hums indifferently, leaning his elbows onto the balcony. In his black t-shirt and red plaid jacket with the rolled-up sleeves, he looks like he should be freezing in this mid-winter weather. Matthew can’t help but notice the feathery-soft blonde hairs on his arms, the shape of his hands, the tell-tale callous from his flute-playing. There had always been something about Gilbert that he was never able to look away from, that drew his gaze to the fairytale-like strangeness of him.</p><p>“Parties like this are great, huh?” Gilbert says abruptly, looking over at Matthew.</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” Matthew says, unconvincingly. It was obvious to everyone that he easily disappears into the crowds at events like this, that he’s barely able to get a word into most conversations. Not with Gilbert though. Gilbert hung onto his every word, in a way that was equally foreign and startling as it was flattering. “Well. Okay. Not really.”</p><p>A small, knowing smile etches onto Gilbert’s lips. “You see? I told you something was wrong.”</p><p>“It’s nothing, though,” Matthew says, laughing hesitantly. “I just get overwhelmed, I guess. Thankfully I’m practically invisible, so no one even notices how awkward I am.” He leans his elbows onto the balcony rail next to Gilbert, shivering despite his thick woolly sweater. “I bet you’re never awkward at parties.”</p><p>Gilbert laughs. “Naturally! I’m always the life of the party.” His smiling gaze lingers, and in that little pause Matthew senses something unspoken, though he’s not sure if that’s only wishful thinking.</p><p>“Hey,” Gilbert touches Matthew’s chin, a touch so tender he knew he’d replay it in his mind over and over for the days to come. “You’re anything but invisible, Matt. You’re the first thing I notice in any room you’re in.”</p><p>Matthew feels his face grow hot as he struggles to hold back his smile. “You don’t really mean that.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>Matthew darts his gaze around at the dark skyline before them, unsure of himself and what this meant. Gilbert’s arm was pressed up against his, and although these accidental touches were common between them, it felt all too obvious now.</p><p>“Why are you out here?” Matthew asks softly, still unable to look Gilbert in the eyes again. The following silence unsettles him. He braves a glance at Gilbert and sees that his expression has grown cold and still like it was before.</p><p>“I don’t know. Somehow, being around all those people makes me feel lonelier.”</p><p>“Oh.” Matthew purses his lips, wondering whether or not to ask –</p><p>“I don’t feel lonely with you, though, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Gilbert adds with a faint smile. “You react so expressively to everything I say.”</p><p>“D-Do I?” Matthew laughs awkwardly, feeling warm now despite the frosty night air.</p><p>“You see?” Gilbert nudges him, chuckling. “Makes me feel like I’m actually being heard.”</p><p>Matthew glances down at his hands, which are now fidgeting nervously. He likes being so close to Gilbert – physically, but in an emotional way, too. But his mind is racing with the possibility that he’s taking all of this too close to heart, that Gilbert only sees him as a friend and Matthew is too eager to have someone notice him in this way, that this dynamic between them and everything it makes him feel is nothing more than an illusion.</p><p>An ice-cold hand cups the side of his face, startling him. He turns only to see Gilbert leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple – his lips chapped but so gentle on him.</p><p>“You’re sweet, Mattie,” Gilbert says, his cool touch gone all too soon. Matthew barely stammers an incoherent response before Gilbert is already leaving, disappearing back into the warmly-lit party inside the apartment. Matthew could only stare off into the empty space Gilbert left behind, knowing that before he slept tonight he would wonder fuzzily if that entire conversation had been nothing more than a sweet, confusing dream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. RoChu Week 2020</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A short little scene for the prompt "Mutual Pining", heavily inspired by the book (and film) <em>The Remains of the Day</em>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The library is dim, stuffy – but the desk lamp is shining on Yao’s face like a spot of sunshine in the middle of dreary November. Ivan has long since given up on typing away at his essay, shutting his laptop and leaning his head down over his folded arms. Across from him, Yao is apparently still focusing intensely on his work, though Ivan is sure he’s faking it. They’ve been here for five hours trying to get this assignment done, the windows are pitch black and no one else is left in the library. And - ?</p>
<p>Yao has been staring at the same page of a yellowed textbook for almost five minutes.</p>
<p>Ivan smiles, burying his mouth into his sleeve to cover it. Yao seems to notice anyway, his eyes darting up at him.</p>
<p>“What?” Yao asks.</p>
<p>“Are you having trouble reading?”</p>
<p>Yao, for a moment, looks like a deer in headlights.</p>
<p>“No. Are you?”</p>
<p>Ivan nods, unable to suppress his yawn. “It's… midnight.”</p>
<p>Yao rubs his face. “You’re kidding me…”</p>
<p>Ivan holds out his palm, and the startled way Yao looks at it makes him flush.</p>
<p>“Y-Your book,” Ivan says quickly, “I can put it back.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Ivan gingerly takes the book from Yao’s hands, getting up to find its shelf. He’s actually not sure where they picked this book out from, and Yao is eager to follow and smugly guide him to the bookshelf. Ivan, like the klutz he is, manages to drop both the book and his rucksack. It’s then that something else falls - a well-worn novel, tumbling out onto the floor with a soft thud that is louder than anything else in this deserted library. The cover stares up unashamedly: <em>The Remains of the Day, </em>the title reads beneath an image of a lavish mansion.</p>
<p>Yao blinks, a pause. “Is that yours?”</p>
<p>Ivan curses under his breath and grabs it off the floor, eager to hide it away - only Yao is reaching for it, too.</p>
<p>“Why are you so shy?” Yao asks, beaming with a knowing smile. “What’s it about?”</p>
<p>“Just… a novel. About. Things.”</p>
<p>Yao laughs, reaching for the book although Ivan is holding it close to his chest. “Things?”</p>
<p>“I read it for practice. F-For my english,” Ivan says, backing into the bookshelf when Yao takes a step towards him.</p>
<p>“For your english?”</p>
<p>“Y-Yes, it improves my vocabulary.”</p>
<p>The corners of Yao’s gentle mouth tug up a little more. “You’re making me very curious about this book.” His fingertips are on the book’s spine, close to Ivan’s, and the way his dark eyes are looking up at him so fervently sets Ivan’s heart into a frenzy.</p>
<p>“Can I see it?”</p>
<p>“N-No,” Ivan gulps. He can feel sweat under his collar. Yao’s face is practically in his, but his eyes are fixated on the book as he continues to try and gently pry it away. </p>
<p>“I just want to have a look,” Yao says teasingly.</p>
<p>“You really don’t,” Ivan laughs nervously, unsure how he could possibly explain the obvious wear and tear of a much-loved book - a book like this, no less, which revelled in nostalgia and longing. But more than this, he can’t help the thoughts running through his head as Yao leans in only closer. Yao looks too touchable like this, too sweet as he smiles and attempts to peer into the book. Yao’s ponytail has fallen apart, and Ivan is oh-so-tempted to tuck in that stray wisp of hair from his face. They’re so close together, he could just about touch it –</p>
<p>The lights go out completely, leaving them in darkness.</p>
<p>“Crap, they’re locking up, we better go!” Yao grabs Ivan’s hand in the dark, pulling him along to the usual frenzy of their day to day life. Ivan isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved as they squeeze past the security guard, muttering their apologies and ducking out into the icy rain. But it’s with a small smile that he realises that even on their way home, Yao doesn’t let go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading!! It’s short, but hopefully sweet. I highly recommend reading (or watching) <em>The Remains of the Day</em> if you’re into the torture of two characters pining for each other but never directly expressing their feelings for each other, plus just a really good story about a butler <strike>(and Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson are in it how can u not).</strike><br/>Here is also <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtqEy9DW91U">the scene</a> this fic is inspired by.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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